Eye of the Beholder
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: The Doctor might not dance, but Rose does, when they crash-land on a planet in the middle of a Festival of Life. The Doctor is busy trying to fix the TARDIAS (Time And Relative Dimension In Alternate Space), but Rose isn't having any of it. Fluff! Second strongest T rating I've ever had. I don't own Doctor Who!


"It's going to be a long day…"

This the Doctor muttered as he nervously poked his head out of the TARDIAS, which he had hoped would survive more than one journey. His new transport, the Time And Relative Dimension In Alternate Space, had only been completed that morning, just prior to his proposal to Rose. Still running on the exhilaration afforded by her acceptance, they had joyously piloted the TARDIAS directly into an asteroid, then crash-landed none too gracefully on the nearest planet: Sayari.

Gently holding out a hand to his fiancée, sprawled on the floor in her nightgown, he pulled her to her feet a moment later and faced the creatures surrounding them, stepping out of the safety of the TARDIAS. _Otherkind. _He had visited them, a long time ago. Less refined than 'catkind', who were simply combinations of feline and human, otherkind were more varied in their nonhuman qualities.

From what little the Doctor could remember from the last time he had been to Sayari, several centuries ago, each tribe had a very distinct set of characteristics: some, pale-skinned and narrow-eyed, had fins in front of their ears and gills on their chests; others had ridged horns and ruddy skin. Some had tails a little like lions', with skin so dark it was almost black in the midday sunlight, and a few were tan-skinned with great feathered wings folded on their backs.

Most of the men wore pants or loincloths with no shirts, though a few wore shirts as well, and some even had on turbans or had their faces entirely covered in cloth. The women, noted the Doctor, were similarly attired, though most wore skirts rather than pants. All clothing was in any shade and pattern imaginable; several people seemed to be practically on fire, while others wore subdued tones of blue—others had no discernible system at all, and picked based on how eye-catching it was.

"Hello," greeted one of the women with a smile, cutting his mind off mid-observation. She wore a long skirt, brilliantly colored, with no top, though she seemed to be wearing a great deal of body paint to make up for this. "You have traveled far to be with us, have you not?"

"Yes, yes we have," agreed the Doctor, relaxing somewhat as he realized that most of the otherkind wore hesitant, shy smiles at their arrival. He was about to ask if the woman knew anyplace he might find some technological help when Rose laughed aloud, startling him.

"We crash-landed in the middle of a dance floor," she giggled, pointing all around them, and the Doctor realized with a jolt that she was quite right. The only reason these people were standing around was that they had fallen from the sky into their immediate center. The fact that they had had the luck to land on a friendly planet was a welcome thought, and the Doctor found himself smiling in sheer relief.

"Welcome to the Festival of Life," beamed the woman, and, as though the words 'Festival of Life' had triggered something, the festivities abruptly resumed around the dysfunctional TARDIAS. A strange, enticing beat (not unlike that of the drums on Salu-salo) emanated from various percussive instruments, and the women danced freely, occasionally joined by men but more often observed in an awestricken manner.

"Do you want to go back inside?" murmured the Doctor to Rose, not wanting to keep her somewhere she didn't feel comfortable. But he was pleased to find her gazing around, plainly captivated by the tropical planet, and to hear her respond that she was fine where she was. In fact, she wanted to do a little exploring.

Grinning, the Doctor ruffled her already untidy hair. Relishing her look of annoyance, he layered on as much charm as he dared and smiled, "Have fun," kissing her on the cheek and dashing into the TARDIAS before she could either kiss back or slap him. That machine needed to be fixed, and he would have preferred being able to leave if he wanted to being stranded here, no matter how pleasant the company was.

* * *

When the Doctor re-emerged from the TARDIAS, it was nightfall. Rubbing his neck, which was sore from being bent at so many unnatural angles over the hours, he wondered when he had last eaten. He had been so excited that morning that he had skipped breakfast, and he had been tinkering with the TARDIAS the evening before and had missed dinner.

Stomach grumbling along with his mouth, the Doctor wandered around the settlement, wondering where Rose had gotten to. He lazily wound his way through market stalls selling all manner of exotic fruits and vegetables, including a free sample of a delicious purple carrotlike root tasting something like bittersweet honey—and, according to the otherkind, was mildly intoxicating if eaten too quickly.

Munching on the root, called a mizizi, the Doctor observed several people bidding for various colored cloths, which apparently meant different things based on the color. For example, noted the Doctor to himself, pink would attract lovers. He tore himself away from the highly engaging auction and continued the search for his fiancée, growing slightly more worried as the remote percussion for a dance grew more and more frantic.

Eventually, he decided to investigate the dance, figuring Rose might be watching. At first, he was barely able to see the goings-on in the distant firelight, but as he grew closer, he saw the intricate motions of a dance performed by women in many-colored skirts, wearing nothing but body paint up top—some more fully painted than others. Jewelry, precious and shining, dangled from their horns, wing-tips, fins, and tails. It was a dance that seemed almost magical, like a spell woven to preserve youth and vitality. No men yet danced among the women, too charmed to interfere with their rhythm.

Entranced for the moment, the Doctor ceased his search for Rose and settled for watching the intricate motions of the dancers' feet. But as soon as he glanced up again, he found that his gaze rested on his fiancée.

Her dirty-blonde hair, slightly damp from exertion, was tied back to keep it out of her light brown eyes, clear and jubilant in the flickering light. She too wore only body paint on her chest and back—black, twin snakes on either side of her, curving in perfect and dazzling symmetry. Around her middle, clinging to her hips, hung a fuchsia, half-sheer cloth, tied at one side and reaching only to her knees. She wore no shoes, the fine dust of the dance arena flying up with each barefoot step.

When Rose saw him, she waved, but did not halt the dance. In acute time with all the other women, she twirled and jumped and clapped and stomped until finally, the dance ended and the percussion changed to a beat that clearly meant 'free dance'. Otherkind from all over swarmed to the dance floor, clamoring to compliment the dancers or doing a few moves themselves.

The Doctor, meanwhile, sat half-stunned on the sidelines, barely noticing when Rose ran up to him and kissed his forehead, saying something about whether the TARDIAS was fixed. When he finally managed to drag his mind back to earth, he swallowed and said, "No, no, it's not fixed yet. Still needs a few hours' work. But I'm… hungry." _Yeah. That was it. Hungry._

"Oh! I'll get you some yatakapotoka! You _have _to try it—it's the best thing in the world. I mean, any world." She beamed at him, a smile the Doctor had no trouble reciprocating, and dashed off to find whatever it was she said, leaving her fiancée to his very scattered thoughts.

* * *

Much later that evening, still reflecting on what he had thought of the yatakapotoka—it seemed to be a little like popcorn, but less airy and with a more nutty flavor—the Doctor tried to wrap his mind around the wires he was reconnecting. He was so used to being a Time Lord that it frustrated him when he couldn't function as well during the late hours; he didn't used to need quite so much sleep.

The Doctor glanced up, startled, as footsteps approached the control room. Rose had gone to bed a couple hours ago; had he been making so much noise with his reconfigurations that she couldn't sleep? Mentally berating himself for being too noisy and thereby ruining his chances in bed, he prepared to be shouted at, turning towards the doorway in the process, but stopped dead.

Rose leaned against the doorway, hair hanging loose and wet around her shoulders. Her light brown eyes flashed in amusement, a smirk playing across her glossy lips. Snakes no longer wound around her waist and chest, but she had evidently not seen fit to change clothes, still wearing the patterned fuchsia cloth around her hips, clinging to her shower-soaked curves.

Feeling himself melt into a puddle of desire, he almost flinched when Rose bounced laughingly towards him. The Doctor found it quite impossible to go back to his work. "You look like a deer caught in the headlights," teased Rose, reaching up and trailing a fingernail across the back of his neck and making him shudder ever so slightly. "Come on. What's so important out here that you haven't come to bed?"

The Doctor stared at the sonic screwdriver in his hand, trying to recall what exactly he had been doing, but even the mess of tangled wires snaking around the central console offered no answer. Swallowing, the Doctor did his best to bring his eyes up to hers and responded (voice cracking under the strain), "Oh, you know… the usual?"

"Uh huh," sighed Rose disbelievingly, leaning her forehead against his. He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly, the Doctor found himself kissing Rose rather than abiding by his original plan to repair the TARDIAS and fly home that night. Funny how that worked.

_It's going to be a long night._

**((Ahahaha, okay, yeah. I watched "The Jewel of the Nile" and Joan joining the dance inspired me to do this. Not even sure what I was actually doing, though. Hope it was tolerable.))**


End file.
